


Skeletons in the Closet

by StormLeviosa



Series: The spy and the consulting detective [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Headcanon, I wrote this instead of revising, One Shot, Platonic Relationships, Prompt Fill, Relationship Discussions, Tumblr Prompt, Why Did I Write This?, because i love that, fandomacefest, my A-levels start tomorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormLeviosa/pseuds/StormLeviosa
Summary: Written for Prompt 1 of FandomAceFest2k18 which was:Prompt One: Coming out!Write about your character coming out of the closet as aspec.Maybe they’re coming out to a friend, a family member, or someone they’re romantically or sexually interested in.Mostly fills the prompt but it's more of a 'discovery' than a 'coming out'.





	Skeletons in the Closet

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon Sherlock as asexual and, as I'm ace, this is a great challenge for me. No more struggling to write romance, yay!  
> So here is a short-ish oneshot about it.  
> Hope you enjoy (as always, let me know what you think in the comments.)

It first became a problem, though not a ‘problem’ as such and more a ‘topic of conversation’, during the Adler case. He had seen the way John had stared, seen Irene Adler’s sensual movement as she attempted to lure him to her. He was not impressed. Miss Adler was his intellectual equal and an impressive adversary; she deserved better than to be made an object of men’s, and women’s, desires. But it was not until her apparent death that John broached the subject in the seclusion of Baker Street. “It’s okay to grieve, Sherlock. I know you cared about her.” Never one to talk about his feelings, Sherlock turned away from John and said nothing. There was something about the violin that put his racing mind at ease, calmed his whirling thoughts, and silenced his melancholy. John had never appreciated being ignored and repeated the statement. Sherlock snorted. “I did not  _ care  _ for her. She was an interesting adversary, nothing more.” This time, it was John who was disbelieving, pausing in his typing to express his incredulity. He said nothing more, however, and the subject was forgotten.

 

Then, years later, the thing with Janine happened and he felt as if he had somehow betrayed himself. They moved quickly because that’s what she wanted and he needed to keep her happy, needed to keep  _ her _ for the case. But while he could fake love and affection, difficult though it may be, sexual attraction was not something so easily feigned. He thought maybe she knew then that something was amiss. He felt no true romantic attraction towards her, though the physical contact, the intimacy of their lives together, was not something he was averse to. She was a presence in the empty rooms and echoing loneliness of his life that he could ramble on to. He could explain a case to her, think out loud as he was wont to do, and she would nod along, though there was none of John’s keen intellect and understanding. Then he confronted Magnussen and she realised the truth. He lost her. He was injured and lost and she confronted him in his weakened state, kicked him while he was down, but the part of him that did feel empathy did not blame her. He had underestimated her. She was just as sly, just as conniving, just as  _ wanting,  _ as Irene Adler had been. There had been no time to contemplate it. And while John looked at him with a foreign expression of pity, disgust and compassion, he had just witnessed his entire world implode and Sherlock’s own troubles were nothing in comparison.

 

He remembered Redbeard of course, the friend from his youth who he had spent so many long days playing with. He had not remembered ‘Redbeard’ was a nickname, let alone a person. It was a complete inversion of everything he knew about himself. He was defined by his mind, his ability to be unclouded in his judgements and retain important information perfectly. His childhood had been unusually formative. Mycroft’s teaching, whether out of hope for his brother’s later intellectual brilliance or sheer spite, had shaped him into who he was. But it was Eurus who had broken him. She had broken him so long ago that he didn’t even remember it. Now, he was forced to play her games again, to choose a person to love. Did he choose his brother, the manipulating but good-intentioned older man on whom the entire country relied, or his friend, the loyal and compassionate doctor who drew him out of his own head? His love for them could not be communicated or understood, even to himself. He could not end them. He could not give either of them up. He could only deny her of the satisfaction that came with his pain.

 

It was apparent that a conversation with Molly was in order. He had hurt her, he knew, and he regretted it. She lived alone, her stream of relationships failing one by one, and he knew where best to meet her. He texted her, of course, and arranged a meeting in a pokey little café he knew she liked. When she arrived, he pulled the chair out for her and slid across the coffee he had ordered her (black, two sugars). She had dressed up for the occasion, needlessly but the effort was there. They sat in awkward silence, neither wanted to begin the conversation. “So.” Molly stared deep into the dregs of her drink as if it could tell her all the secrets of the world. “Was it true?” He sighed and turned his hands over in his lap. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Feelings were not his strong suit, never had been. He took a breath. “Yes.” 

 

Her smile could brighten a dark room and it was just one of the things he loved about her. It was a strange kind of love: not the superficial, parasitic love that he had faked for Janine, nor the idealistic admiration that he held for Irene. It was closer to what he felt for John or Mycroft and yet still different. She was not his sister (he never wanted a sister anyway and certainly not after the Eurus situation) but he felt no primal desire to make her  _ his.  _ She would not understand that. In all his years, no one had ever understood. But he would have to make her see and it would hurt her again but perhaps her hurt would be for the best. “I love you.” She was blushing, smiling shyly and he wanted so badly to keep that smile on her face forever. “I love you but not in the way that you want me to.” Her smile faltered and something in his heart shrivelled and died. “I love your smile, and the way you laugh. I love your intelligence and the way you always want to help, no matter the personal cost. You are beautiful, inside and out, and I hope you will find someone who makes you as happy as I want you to be. But it won’t be me. I can’t fulfill your fantasies.” She was crying now, silent tears slipping down her cheeks and she put one hand to her shaking mouth. He despised what he was doing to her, how he was killing her dreams, and began to apologise but she stopped him before he could really begin.

 

“Don’t...don’t apologise. You can’t help how you feel it’s just that no one’s ever said anything so kind before.” He felt terrible for doing this to her. She deserved better than what could ever give her. “I think I understand though,” she continued. “There’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with you. You just don’t feel things the same way as other people. I’ve always known that, I think.” She chuckled but there was a bitterness to it. “You’re so intelligent but so blind. You know when people are attracted to each other, you know a million different ways to identify someone’s sexuality but you don’t know your own heart. You’re asexual, silly.” She was smiling and that tight feeling in his heart loosened slightly but confusion reigned in his head. He didn’t know what she meant and it was infuriating. Something of his bewilderment must have shown in his face because she laughed more and took his hands in hers. “It means you don’t feel sexual attraction to people. Everything makes sense now!” And then they were laughing together, two friends talking over coffee.


End file.
